


Winter Warmth

by ZaliaChimera



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff, M/M, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-19
Updated: 2010-08-19
Packaged: 2017-10-11 04:06:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaliaChimera/pseuds/ZaliaChimera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the English snowstorms, America goes to visit and help England warm up his southern regions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Winter Warmth  
> Author: Zalia Chimera  
> Pairing: USXUK  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Warnings: Unrepentant smut  
> Notes: England has been suffering from a lot of relatively heavy snow over the last few days and people have, predictably, been panicking far more than is necessary. This is what inspired this fic.

The snow was falling thick and fast when America arrived at England's door and he turned up his collar against it. He'd been to colder places of course; this weather had nothing on Alaska after all, but it was a little surprising since he'd become used to the island nation's mild dampness, never too cold, never uncomfortably hot, and he didn't think he'd heard about snow this bad in years, even if he couldn't help but think that the panic was going a bit too far. Then again, he'd seen that in his own states sometimes and it makes him roll his eyes then too because he could remember times when all that you could do in the snow was hole up and hope that you had enough food and wood stocked to last out the winter. Humans were sort of like mayflies, even if it made him a little uncomfortable to think of them that way, but they came and went so quickly that he couldn't blame them for reacting so strongly to everything; they haven't all seen it worse, they haven't survived through worse and he was grateful for that. He hated seeing his people suffer and despite the problems, he couldn't help but love technology for that, for keeping them warm and well fed, even in winter storms.

England's house looked pretty in the snow, like something out of a Christmas card, a large cottage up in the rolling hills of the Dales, the lights of a Christmas tree winking in the window. There was a wreathe of real holly and ivy hung on the front door and America could just picture England winding the branches together skilfully with calloused fingers. The holly lacked berries and America thought that maybe he could have stuck some on at least, but he remembered seeing England surreptitiously pick off the berries that remained and toss them outside onto the little wooden bird table. It was endearing which is why America never mentioned it to him. He'd only stop or make sure that America wasn't around before doing it, and America liked those stolen glimpses of England too much to jeopardise it.

He knocked lightly on the front door, and then again when he got no reply. With a frown, he tried the handle and pushed the door open. The little porch was freezing cold and America kicked the snow off his hiking boots against the door jamb before undoing the laces and tugging them off. He set them neatly next to a pair of England's sneakers (that England wore more often than he'd ever admit), removed his hat and coat and gloves, shoved the scarf that England had knitted for him last year into his pocket, and then padded quietly into the house proper.

It was the lounge where the house really started to feel welcoming, matching the postcard-perfect vision that the outside of the house gave. The room was cosy and smelled sweetly of pine from the Christmas tree. The TV was on to some old comedy show (he glanced over and frowned as he recognised the old World War One uniforms accompanying the humorous words) and the wooden floor was smooth beneath his socked feet. It made him want to slide across the polished surface but he'd been berated for that enough times and it felt faintly sacrilegious to break the calm of the room.

England was asleep on the couch, a blanket wrapped around him and even with that he was shivering. It awoke embarrassingly tender feelings in America because really, England so rarely looked sweet and never innocent while he was awake, that he wanted to drink in the sight, memorise it because he might never see it again and it felt like such a loss to the world. He approached after a moment, because he knew that England would wake soon; he always seemed to feel America watching him, and then he'd scowl and _what are you doing standing there gawking, idiot?_ He pressed the back of his hand to England's forehead, glad to find that there was no fever. The shivering was nothing more serious than being cold.

Green eyes opened and peered drowsily at him for a moment before England sat bolt upright and the calm was very definitely broken. "Bloody hell America! You scared me nearly half to death!"

America grinned, rested his hands on his hips and looked down at the other nation. "Awww, don't be like that. You know you're glad to see me really."

England huffed and pulled the blanket further up around himself, hunching it around his shoulders, up to his chin so that he was cocooned with it, only his face peeking out from beneath it. "You could have called first," he said plaintively. "You could have given me a heart attack, sneaking up on me like that.

America thought that if he hadn't given England a heart attack yet with any of his actions (rebelling against him, the results of the Manhattan Project, the entire fucking Cold War all sprang readily to mind) then he was probably not going to keel over just from America sneaking into his house, but he bit his tongue and flopped down on the couch next to him, resting his arms wide along the top of it, enough that his fingers could brush the trail of hair at England's nape. It made America's lips quirk upwards when England shivered for a different reason (or at least, he hoped that it was for a different reason).

"It's not that cold in here, you know. You really are an old man, England."

England's eyes narrowed in a glare and he shivered again, teeth chattering. "It's bloody freezing! Half the sodding country is panicking which doesn't help either."

That made America grimace because he really could sympathise. So many of his people focusing so intently on the cold must just be making things worse so he couldn't really blame him for huddling up like this. He reached out to ruffle England's hair, still amused after all these years that he was tall enough to do this easily, still grateful that England allowed him to do it with nothing more than a grumpy huff and flushed cheeks. "Yeah," America murmured. "I saw the news on the BBC website. I thought Canada was going to laugh himself sick at the stories of half the country grinding to a halt because of an inch of snow." That was probably why he'd decided to stay at the hotel for tonight. He wasn't going to be able to keep a straight face when he faced England.

England muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath about people making him look like a fool and America laughed softly. "Don't worry, he mocks me too. He still teases me whenever it snows in New York." And Canada was vicious when he had something to tease America about. It happened far more often than he liked to admit.

A wicked thought occurred to him and he leaned closer, resting his chin on England's shoulder. "It's the south that's the main problem, right? They're not used to so much snow?"

England nodded, turning his head a little to meet America's eyes. "Yes. What about it?"

"I have an idea to help warm up your ah... your southern regions."

"If this involves giant robots wielding flamethrowers, America, I swear..."

America smirked, eyes flicking downward towards... well towards a large expanse of heavy blanket if he was honest but his hand snaked down beneath the blanket and that seemed to get the idea across because England's eyes widened for a moment, a flush colouring his cheeks. "I can't believe that you came here just for this you pervert. You're as bad as France!"

"You're the one with the subscription to 'Bondage Monthly', England," America replied with a laugh. "What was that special called? 'Manacles vs Handcuffs; which restraint is right for you?'"

England sputtered when America trailed his forefinger against the front of England's pants, grinning like a cat that'd just got into an aviary of small flightless birds. "America!"

"You love it," America replied, nuzzling closer so that England could feel warm breath against his neck, the curve of America's lips against his skin. He rubbed his palm against the front of England's pants, giving a breathy laugh when he felt England's cock start to harden, bulging against the material. England squirmed but gave no protest except a breathy sigh, his death grip on the blanket loosening slightly. "See, you're getting warmer already," America added with a teasing tone. He leaned closer to press his lips to England's flushed cheek. "Warm here and..." he gave England's cock a quick squeeze through the material, "warm here too."

England muttered something that sounded a little like a breathless 'bloody idiot' but turned his head to catch America's lips with his own, a quick brush of his lips that America pushed further, slicking his tongue across England's lips, between his lips, tracing his teeth and the roof of his mouth before he pulled away, a strand of saliva connecting them for a moment as he stared into England's slightly started eyes. America licked his own lips with a satisfied look on his face before ducking in for another. England's hand curled around his neck, the pads of his fingers cold dabs against his skin as they kissed, England's tongue darting against his own, teasing and playful.

"Mmmm, warm in there too," America said with drowsy warmth. He pecked England on the lips again before pulling the blanket up over his head, ducking beneath it as he stretched out, chin against England's thigh as he opened the fly of England's slacks. England struggled against him for a moment until America's mouthed him through his boxers, lips and tongue leaving damp patches against the thin material. A startled, strangled noise escaped England and his hand clenched into America's hair, tugging lightly at the soft strands.

America batted at his fingers gently, removing them because England had a habit of pulling hair when he was horny and while a little could be kind of arousing, he always pulled a great deal harder than was necessary. "Hey, hands off," he grumbled. "I don't want to end up with a bald spot. I'll look terrible with a comb over."

"Oh for...fine!" England said, dutifully moving to grip the top edge of the blanket instead and America rewarded him with a kiss through the cloth of his boxers before he tugged them down insistently, England wriggling to let them slide down his thighs.

America kissed the tip of his cock lightly, enjoying the shiver and aborted moan which that drew from England. Always so fussy, so stuffy, not wanting to let it be known just how much he enjoyed it despite the evidence of it pressing firm against the inside of America's cheek as he took the head into his mouth. He sucked lightly on it, swirling his tongue against the tip, tasting salt-skin and pre-come, smearing his saliva against England's skin like he was marking him with it. A harsh gasp escaped England's lips as his tongue-tip pressed against the slit and America felt the blanket be pulled sharply upwards, the gasp muffled and he knew that England would be biting down hard on it to stifle his pretty little noises, the ones that made America want to bend him over the couch and fuck him until he screamed, all dignity forgotten. He trailed his tongue down the underside of England's cock, tracing his foreskin, following the line of veins and nuzzling against England's balls, feeling the tense and flinch of England's thighs as he shifted, begging for more with his body. He lapped a wet line against his sac before returning his attention to England's cock, sucking hard at the underside of it, one of those weird little spots that made England thrash, breath coming in hot heavy pants and America had to rest a hand against one hip, holding him down firmly as he continued. Sometimes he kind of wanted to try this while wearing lipstick, greedily wanting to mark England for real, albeit only temporarily, to see obscene red flecked against his skin to show exactly where America's lips had fucked him.

He took a breath, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve before ducking his head down again, taking in more of England's cock while his free hand began to fondle his balls lightly, cupping them in his palm and stroking them with the edges of his nails. England cried out, the blanket muffling it but it was still audible and America grinned around the other nation's cock as he sucked and licked, caressing England with his tongue, worshiping with his mouth. He felt the shift of England's hips, the desire to fuck his mouth hard and deep, but America pushed him firmly down, holding him firmly as he grazed his teeth lightly against England's length, dragging a mewl from his lips as he took England in deeper, hotter, lovely wetness and suction and he could feel how much England wanted to touch, to hold, to claim and he reveled a little in denying it, in holding him hostage like this.

There was a fine tremble in England's thighs and America smoothed his thumb along the dip between hip and groin, pressing it in lightly, permitting, encouraging as he sucked and sucked like he wanted to drink England in, until England came, voice high and harsh and utterly gorgeous, his seed staining America's mouth as continued to touch and tease, drawing it out, milking out of England every sound that he could, every hot moan and keening cry until he was soft again, trembling beneath America's lips.

America rested there for a moment, working his jaw, wiping his lips and ugh, he was going to need a drink but it was worth it when he felt the slight shake in England's limbs, pulled out from beneath the blanket and saw the expression on England's face; open mouth and eyelids fluttering and for once, utterly relaxed, open and vulnerable and America couldn't resist kissing him again, coaxing his mouth open sweetly, brushing his knuckles against England's cheek until England's eyes opened once more and he peered at America, gaze a little unfocused. America huffed with soft laughed, smoothed his thumb against England's lips, savouring the brief moments when he was tamed and docile because they never lasted for long. England's tongue lazily flicked out to suckle at the digit, hands idly tugging the blanket back up over them both.

"Warmer now?" America asked, nuzzling the soft patch of skin just below England's ear.

"Mmmm," England replied drowsily. "Much better."


End file.
